Noticing
by StarkidPotter1997
Summary: Ron knew something was wrong with his friend. He'd always known Harry was smaller and thinner than the rest of their age mates, but hadn't put much thought into it until now. The youngest Weasley boy wasn't as thick as everyone seemed to think - he didn't miss the winces when he moved the wrong way, or how the 'Muggle sport injury' was suspiciously hand-shaped. Warnings inside.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Noticing **

**Alternate Title: Yet Another Let's Abuse Harry Story**

**Summary: ****Ron knew something was wrong with his friend. He'd always known Harry was smaller and thinner than the rest of their age mates, but hadn't put much thought into it until now. He wasn't as thick as everyone seemed to think - he didn't miss the winces when he moved the wrong way, or how the 'muggle sport injury' was suspiciously hand-shaped.**

**WARNINGS: Mentions of child abuse and some violence. **

"Boy! You get in here now!"

13-year-old Harry Potter's eyes flew open at his uncle's yell. His eyes snapped to his miniscule shelf above his bed, heart dropping to his stomach when he realized his cobbled together alarm clock had decided to quit sometime during the night.

In less than a minute he was wearing some of Dudley's old jeans, one of his uncle's holey belts wrapped twice around his bony hips to get them to stay up. He had just pulled a slightly stained t-shirt over his head when the cupboard door flew open. Vernon's large, now purple face appeared in the opening.

"Get a move on, freak!" A beefy hand grabbed the front of his already stretched-out shirt and hauled him out. "How many times do I have to tell you? I want breakfast on the table by seven. Do you know what time it is?" His voice was now steely calm, and it was terrifying.

"No, sir, my clock-"

"_7, _Potter, and you're still lazing in bed like your good-for-nothing parents!" The back of his hand slammed across Harry's cheek, immediately leaving a slightly raised red handprint. Harry stumbled and would have fallen had the wall not been behind him. Tears involuntarily sprang to his eyes from his smarting face.

"There'll be more of that, freak, if my breakfast isn't ready before I leave for work!" Vernon snarled, and Harry sprinted into the kitchen, nearly colliding with a very angry Dudley. He'd be leaving for his third year of Hogwarts in three days, and he'd been hoping he'd arrive without any bruises, welts, or cuts. He'd been so careful, but it seemed it would be fruitless because of his stupid broken alarm clock. He'd just been so tired…

There was no way he'd finish breakfast like Uncle Vernon wanted. He left for work at 7:15 everyday, and it wasn't humanely possible to cook bacon, eggs, toast, and sausage in fifteen minutes.

Sure enough, he'd finished the omelets and bacon when he lumbered into the kitchen with his briefcase. His eyes narrowed when he saw his 'small' breakfast.

"I warned you, boy," he growled. He unbuckled his belt, which was thick and long to get around his great bulk. "Face the wall."

Closing his eyes to brace himself, Harry slowly turned to face the neutral-painted wall. He clenched his fists and bit his lip to keep from crying out as the strap of leather bit into the skin, leaving angry red welts. He whimpered slightly as a particularly hard blow made him slump forward against the wall, tears sliding silently down his cheeks.

He nearly sighed out loud in relief when he heard his uncle putting his belt back on. "Petunia, I need to leave for work if I want to get that…"

His uncle's voice seemed to fade as Harry closed his eyes, working through the intense pain. His back felt like it was on fire, and his face still stung from the morning's wake up call. Distantly he remembered that he was going to Diagon Alley with the Weasleys to pick up school supplies that afternoon, and would need some excuse for the bruise that was sure to sprout on his cheek.

His aunt, being slightly kinder than his uncle, allowed him a short reprieve and instructed him to go change, as to 'not get blood on her floor'. He hurried back to his cupboard, swinging the door shut and pulling the chain for the overhead light. In reality not much of his skin had been split open, but it stung miserably.

As he pulled off the soiled shirt, the door opened a crack and a small box dropped in. It closed quickly and he cautiously peered into it. A small tube of ointment and a roll of gauze stared up at him.

"Thank you," he whispered to the woman just beyond the door. He heard her sharp heels click off, and then dabbed the medicine on the cuts as best he could. He gingerly pulled a long sleeved shirt over his head. The sleeves would hide the welts on his arms, so Mrs. Weasley didn't ask questions. If he let anyone find out, wizard or not, his uncle would kill him.

He hid the bandages and tube of ointment in his pillowcase so Vernon wouldn't take them away. It was easier to hide cuts if they weren't infected.

Gingerly straightening as much as he could under the stairs, he unlatched his door and limped down the hall. Aunt Petunia had finished breakfast for him and her and Dudley were eating at the table, his cousin gorging himself on bacon. "Do the dishes," Petunia said sternly, not looking up from her cup of coffee.

"Yes, ma'am." He stepped up to the pans set by the sink. A small portion of scrambled eggs were still in the pan and he smiled. Aunt Petunia wasn't exactly kind to him, but without her he would've been killed by his uncle a long time ago. Starved to death, probably.

Hastily he scooped the eggs out and stuffed them in his mouth before Dudley saw and told Uncle Vernon when he got home from work. He savored the flavor as he began to scrub the first pan, glancing at the microwave's clock. 7:45...the Weasleys would be here at 10, and he still needed to clean Dudley's second bedroom.

Placing the last plate on the drying rack, he hobbled upstairs. A mirror was hanging on the wall and he winced at his appearance. He'd gotten too thin again over the summer thanks to the Dursleys, and he was startlingly pale except for the purpling hand-shaped bruise. Dark bags hung under his eyes, and his hair was limp with malnutrition. Sighing, he turned and began to organize Dudley's DS games on the shelf. Good thing he was staying at the Burrow - he didn't think he could take another three days here.

**A is for Azkaban **

Molly Weasley gestured for her children to stay in the Ministry-issued car as she walked to the front porch of the house identical to every other one within a one mile radius except for the numbers on the mailboxes. Smoothing her patched robes down, she knocked on the heavy wood door. With a minute a mousey woman answered, staring at her with what looked like distaste.

"Hello," Molly said, giving a friendly smile. "I'm here to pick up Harry." The woman scowled.

"Right, then." She walked back into the living room, Dudley peering out from the stair's railing. "Potter, get down here!"

Molly frowned at her harsh tone. Did he get spoken to all the time like that?

All thought was pushed from her mind as he appeared at the top of the stairs, dragging his trunk behind him. He looked like death warmed over. His posture sagged and he seemed to be limping as he walked carefully towards his almost surrogate redhead mother. What seemed to be muggle make-up was smeared across his face, attempting to hide what was no doubt a nasty bruise on his cheek.

Dudley, smirking, stuck out his foot as Harry passed him. The boy sucked in a breath as he tripped over the fat boy's ankle, sure he was going to tumble the rest of the way down the stairs.

"_Aresto momentum,_" Molly said quickly. Harry's fall slowed enough for him to grab onto the railing, frowning at Dudley. He grimaced as he straightened, but then smiled at Molly.

"Hi, Mrs. Weasley," he greeted, green eyes sparkling in anticipation of the day. He turned to the skinny woman. "I finished my chores, Aunt Petunia. I'll see you next summer…"

The woman - Petunia - only gave a stern nod, then stalked into the kitchen adjoining the living area. Annoyed and rather angry at the woman, Molly led Harry outside. He looked even worse in the sunlight, the harsh rays washing out his already pale skin.

"We'll just go back to the house and take the Floo," the kindly woman, brow wrinkled in concern, said. "…are you alright, Harry?"

He pasted a grin on his face and nodded. "Of course." He climbed into the bigger-on-the-inside car, settling between Ron and either Fred or George. Ron looked concerned.

"Why d'ya have stuff on your face, mate?" he asked. "_Scorgify._"

In an instant the makeup was gone and the now almost black bruise stood out painfully clear on his face. "Blimey, where'd you get that?" Ron asked, lightly touching the mark.

"Ah - muggle sport. Football," he explained with a grin. Ron seemed satisfied with the answer, but he didn't see Fred and George exchange skeptical, concerned looks.

In what seemed like no time they'd arrived at the Burrow. The Weasley children scurried out, followed by Molly and Harry, walking more slowly.

Once inside, the mother gently put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Dear, would you help me with something?"

"I can help, Mum," Ron offered as the rest of the redheads ran to collect things they'd forgotten for the trip.

"No, Ron, go on," Molly said firmly. Though confused, Ron followed the others upstiars. Harry tilted his head in confusion.

"What do you want me to help with?" he asked. In answer, Molly walked into one of the small side rooms, closing the door behind her, before turning to Harry.

Taking out her wand, she tapped his cheek and murmured, "_Episkey_." The bruise faded into a light green. "Anywhere else?" she asked quietly. She looked sad and concerned.

Perfectly aware she was at least suspicious of where he got his injuries, Harry silently removed his robe, then the shirt underneath. "_Vulnera Sanentur_. _Episkey." _The welts and gashes on his back and arms faded to smaller, thinner lines of irritated red, and he sighed in contentment.

"Now, Harry, I'd imagine there's injuries I'm not qualified to heal, and you're passed skinny," she said, staring at his jutting spine and ribs. "I'd suggest you let me take you to St. Mungo's, or at least Madam Pomfrey." She grabbed him in a hug, eyes widening and tears sparkling in her eyes when she felt the skeletal, starved body.

"Not St. Mungo's," Harry requested once they pulled apart, staring at the tips of his shoes. Mrs. Weasley's suspicions that he had other injuries were true. He was pretty sure at least one finger was broken, and his stomach was concaved with malnutrition while his spine stuck out painfully far from his body, as well as his ribs. His cheeks were sunken into his face, except for the bags puffed out under his eyes.

"Healer Pomfrey's, then. I'll make sure to send a note to Dumbledore and let him know you need to see her as soon as you get there. After we shop, you're going straight to bed," she ordered. "No buts," she added as he opened his mouth to protest. "I want you to talk to Dumbledore about this, too."

"Alright," Harry said quietly, having no intention of actually telling the Headmaster. Molly regarded him sternly, then handed him her knitting bag so he'd have something to help her with and not look suspicious.

**B is for Blimey **

Ron knew something was wrong with his friend. He'd always known Harry was smaller and thinner than the rest of their age mates, but hadn't put much thought into it until now. He wasn't as thick as everyone seemed to think - he didn't miss the winces when he moved the wrong way, or how the 'muggle sport injury' was suspiciously hand-shaped.

It hurt, a bit, that he didn't confide in his best friend, but he supposed everyone had secrets. He became even more concerned when his mother told him to go on in because she wanted Harry to 'carry something'. As if, Mum.

He slumped into one of the living room's many chairs. Fred and George came up to him, smiling, but something was off about their normal smirks. They were concerned, too.

"Why the long face, Ronnykins?" Fred asked, setting on one of the chair's arms, with George on the other.

"Yeah, you get to go to Diagon Alley with your best mate," George added.

"You know what's wrong," Ron huffed, half sad and half angry. "Something's wrong with Harry."

For once in their lives, Fred and George turned serious.

"Yeah, but Mum's-" Fred.

"Taking care of him now-" George.

"So you don't have to worry."

"Mum takes care of-"

"Everything."

Ron, used to the twins' uncanny knack of finishing the others' sentences, didn't even smile. "Yeah, I guess," he said uncertainly. He glanced up as Harry and Mrs. Weasley came out of the side room. Harry's bruise was almost gone and he seemed to be carrying himself much more casually, instead of the stiff gait he'd adopted earlier. He seemed slightly cowed, and Ron's mum seemed distressed.

"Alright. Let's go, then. Where did Ginny run off to, now? If she's fixing her hair again…" The woman went up the stairs muttering, leaving Harry with the rest of the kids.

Ron smiled at his friend, trying to make everything seem normal. As normal as something could be in the Weasley household.

"Are we meeting Hermione there?" Harry asked, stretching with a contented sigh.

"Yeah, but she can't stay with us after," Ron said, looking depressed. "She has to attend her great-aunt's 13th wedding or something like that."

Harry's eyebrows rose. "I see…"

They made small talk for fifteen minutes before an annoyed Ginny came down, followed by Mrs. Weasley. "Never have I seen one person take so much time to put their hair up!" Mrs. Weasley said in a high-pitched tone. "We're going to have to talk to your father if this continues, young lady."

Ginny huffed, threw some Floo Powder into the fireplace, and yelled, "Diagon Alley!", successfully escaping her mother's telling-off for the moment. Mrs. Weasley puffed out her chest.

"Oh, that girl's going to get it!" She stepped in. "Diagon Alley!"

Remembering his first experience with the Floo Network, Harry made absolutely sure he yelled the name clearly as he stepped into the fire.

**C is for Care of Magical Creatures **

**Okay! Hi! My name is StarkidPotter97 (yes, my username is from the Starkid theater company that made the wonderful HP musicals.) This is my absolute first Harry Potter fan fiction. I finally read JK's books for the first time a couple months ago at the library, finishing them all in that time and watching the movies. However, I don't own the books nor can I afford them, so please bear with me if I mess up anything and please let me know! **

**I watched the movies and sobbed during every one of them. Honestly…Daniel Radcliffe was too good of a child actor. **

**So, please drop me a review, PM, anything to let me know how to make my story better! **

**Thanks! **

**~SKPOTTER97**


	2. Chapter 2

_** Before I begin, I'd like to point out that this might be slightly AU in the sense the timeline is a bit messed up. It's sometime in August, after Harry's 13**__**th**__** birthday, and it's the summer before their third year. As I don't have access to the book, I'm not exactly positive how long the Weasleys stayed in Egypt, so they might still be there in the book. **_

_**Also, I've decided to start a 'Mini House-Cup', in a sense. Details in the ending author's note.**_

_**This chapter is a bit shorter, which I apologize for. I hurt my shoulder pretty bad and have been in a sling, which make it difficult to type! If you could send up a prayer that'd be great, because I might have to have a painful surgery, and I really don't want that! :) Thanks!**_

_**Without further ado, Noticing Chapter Two.**_

Harry struggled with the sizeable stack of books in his arms, walking alongside Ron and Hermione. Hermione was chatting happily about her upcoming trip to France to attend her great-aunt's thirteenth wedding. Ron hadn't been exaggerating; her aunt truly had been married, divorced, and remarried twelve times already.

"I was the flower girl in the first and third," she explained, reading the back of her Arithmancy textbook. "A candle lighter in the sixth, seventh, and tenth." She grinned broadly. "This year, I'm to be a bridesmaid. Aunt Rachel has always taken a liking to me for some odd reason. I don't see her but once a year, if that."

Harry hummed, letting her know he was listening, but concentrated mostly on his stack of books. Though Mrs. Weasley's ministrations had helped tremendously, he had several bruises and welts on his ribs. Several hard-backed textbooks didn't exactly feel nice against them.

Ron was busy examining his new wand, purchased just an hour ago from Ollivander's, of course. It was quite beautiful, Harry had to admit. Fourteen inches, willow, with a unicorn hair core. Ron had been waving it around, pretending to cast spells and pretty much just annoying Hermione.

"Honestly, Ronald," she huffed, when it became obvious he wasn't listening to her talk about how ingenious Wakefield was for writing her numerology text. "You've been muttering imaginary spells for the past hour."

Ron frowned, almost pouting. "Well it's certainly more interesting than numerous-ology or whatever."

"_Numerology, _Ron," Hermione said, annoyed. "I can't believe you aren't taking it. It's such an interesting subject." She flipped open the book to a page titled _Astrological Philosophy: Gnostics. _"See, these was one of the first civilizations to attempt to understand the connection between mathematics and astrology…"

Harry smiled faintly, tuning out the impending argument as he spotted Mrs. Weasley, Ginny, and Mr. and Mrs. Granger sitting at a table at an outdoor café, chatting. Ginny looked extremely bored, and had resorted to reading one of Gilderoy Lockhart's books Mrs. Weasley had stowed in her bag.

"Oh, there you are!" Molly said with a gentle smile. She swept her gaze over Harry and frowned slightly when she saw how pale he was. "I've got lunch here." She waved her wand and a tiny straw box enlarged to a rather large picnic basket. She set out numerous packages of homemade egg salad sandwiches, an array of various biscuits, and a tray of vegetables.

As he unwrapped a sandwich, Harry noticed uncomfortably that a girl who looked too young for Hogwarts was openly staring at him, pulling excitedly at her mother's sleeve. He smiled awkwardly at her, but flattened his unruly dark hair over his scar more. Hermione, ever observant, noticed and gently patted his arm.

Knowing from experience that a lot of rich food didn't mix well with a few months of near starvation, Harry took small bites of his sandwich, laughing with his friends and trying to ignore Mrs. Weasley's worried glances. He hadn't had a mother worry over him for twelve years; he didn't need one now.

Fred and George joined them soon after, carrying a small bag with _Zonko's_ printed on the side and swirls of color magically spinning in a border around it. Mrs. Weasley sent them a warning glare but they simply smirked, stuffing the bag under Fred's chair. Percy stops by just long enough to inform them he's eating with Penelope Clearwater, and disappears again with _Prefects Who Rose to Power _tucked underneath his arm.

Once twenty-three sandwiches were eaten, mostly courtesy of Ron, Fred, and George, they pack up and agree to meet back in two hours. Mrs. Weasley takes Ginny to get the rest of her things, and Fred and George disappear yet again into Zonko's. Ron mumbles that he needs new quills and leads Hermione and Harry into _Madam Hawkes Second-Hand Supplies, _marching over to a bin filled with slightly rusted or dented quills with his nose held high.

Harry was never sure why Ron was so ashamed of buying things second hand, or not having much money. He'd take the Weasley's cozy, loving home over the Dursley's prim, proper one any day.

Hermione was immediately attracted to a shelf full of out-of-print books, and Harry wandered around, glancing at the odds and ends set up almost neatly on the wooden shelves. It was dim, but not terribly so, and a magically-lit lamp flickered overhead. He could hear Ron digging in the bin, mumbling things like, "That one almost looks new…no, it's rusted…too many dents…"

Absentminded, Harry picked up a cracked hand mirror, glancing in it. He nearly dropped it when he saw his reflection. His nose was gushing blood, and his face was absolutely covered in bruises. Three gashes decorated his hairline, and his lips were split and bloodied. He reached up a hand, eyes wide, to touch his face, he noticed his hand in the mirror was also bruised, and there were fingerprint-shaped bruises wrapped around his wrists.

"It's a wizard's Hallowe'en decoration," a voice said from behind him. Jumping in surprise, Harry whirled to see a stony faced Ron, several quills clutched loosely in his hands. "You hang it on the wall. It shows every past injury. It's pretty scary, if you've ever had any injuries. They're not too popular, but Fred and George bought one last year." He stepped forward, holding out the mirror so Harry can see Ron's reflection as well as his own. Ron had a sizeable, bruised lump on his forehead and his nose is bloodied, but he looks better than Harry by any means.

"Quidditch accident when I was nine," Ron said, pointing to the phantom goose egg. "And roughhousing with the twins." He points to his nose.

Harry touched his face and slowly calmed as he realized his face wasn't sticky with blood, nor could he taste copper like he usually did when he had a bloody nose or split lips. He slowly sat the mirror down on the shelf, staring back at Ron's sorrowful expression.

"Harry…" Ron said quietly, stepping forward. "You…"

"I was pretty clumsy," Harry said with a chuckle he really hopes doesn't sound forced. It sounds fake to his own ears. "Always falling down stairs…tripping. You know."

"I know," Ron said in such a steely, cold tone Harry jerked up to stare at his best friend. Does he know, or _know_?

He's saved from having to answer when Hermione walked around the shelf, carrying three books under her arm and her nose stuck in another. "Look," she said, wide-eyed and out of breath as if the book's adventure were physically affecting her. "Harry, you'll get this. It's Muggle fairy tales, rewritten by wizards!"

Harry turned, breaking the eye contact with Ron. He plastered a grin on his face, like he'd done so many times before with teachers, neighbors, and friends. "That's awesome, Hermione!" he exclaimed, feigning unusually enthusiastic interest. "Are you buying it?"

"Of course," Hermione answered, as if it were obvious. "It's only three sickles! And this one-" She holds up another copy, a paperback version of _How to be a Proper Witch: Culture for Young Women. _"-it looks fascinating. I admit it might be a little out of date, as it was written in 1876, but surely the principles are still the same?" She doesn't wait for an answer, but pulls Harry towards the shelf of books. "There's one on Quidditch, about the very first World Cup…"

Ron stayed still, staring after his friends as Harry quietly listened to Hermione chatter excitedly about her discoveries, cheeks flushed with pleasure. Harry was decidedly pale, especially after seeing himself so banged-up in the trick mirror.

Frowning, Ron walked slowly to the check-out counter to pay for his quills, digging some knuts from his pockets. He'd get Harry help, one way or another.

_**Yikes! No break line through the whole chapter. Sorry if it ran together at all! Also, please help me look for mistakes; I tend to switch between present and past tense without realizing it. My creative writing teacher hates it, haha!**_

_**As mentioned above, I'm going to host a little Mini House Cup. It's not my idea, if was on another spectacular piece of Fanfiction. As soon as I find it I'll link it, but my computer crashed and the name was in Latin so I don't remember how to spell it. **_

_**Here's the rules: **_

_**1. For each unique reviewer per chapter, your house gets 5 points. (Please be fair, and don't review anonymously several times.) If you've taken a good Sorting Hat quiz, such as on Pottermore, either tell me what the result of that was, a guess of which house you'd be in, or I'll have an 'Unsorted First Years' category for those who don't care to participate. It seemed quite fun in the other fic, so I thought I'd try it out! **_

_**2. I'll have a bonus question each chapter, whether it be a riddle, a trivia question, etc. Please don't look it up online - I want to do this as fairly as possible!**_

_**This chapter's question: A bus driver was going down the street. He went past two stop signs without stopping, went by a red light, and turned left at a "No Left Turn" sign, yet didn't break any traffic rules. How? (We'll start with a riddle!)**_

_**So - let the Mini House Cup begin!**_


End file.
